Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

opposite him, her hair cascading on to her shoulders, her eyes closed. He examined her sleeping face.

      How could she have thought such features would pass for a boy’s? Her complexion was like fresh cream, her brows delicately arched, lips full and pink and turned up at the corners. Even with her hair loose and in a man’s shirt and breeches, she looked as if she belonged in the finest ballroom, not sleeping in a peasant’s barn.

      He struggled to sit, but pain shot through his shoulder. Pressing his hand against his wound, he felt a bandage securely in place. It was damp with sweat.

      No wonder. Blankets were piled at his feet. He kicked them away and made another effort to sit, trying to bear the pain. A cry escaped. ‘Ah!’

      Miss Pallant jumped and seemed to recoil from him. ‘Captain?’

      She looked at him as if he were the bogeyman himself while she plaited her hair.

      His cry must have alarmed her. ‘Forgive me. I put too much strain on my shoulder.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Is it afternoon?’

      ‘No, morning.’ Her wariness did not abate.

      ‘Morning? Do you mean I slept all of yesterday?’

      ‘You were very feverish,’ she responded in a defensive tone. ‘And, yes, you did sleep on and off. Do you not remember any of it?’

      Bits and pieces of the previous day returned. Miss Pallant undressing him, stroking him with a cool cloth. Miss Pallant naked, her skin glowing and smooth against the dark rough wood of the stable, like a goddess thrust off Mount Olympus.

      He glanced away from her. ‘I remember some of it.’

      ‘You were feverish all day,’ she said. ‘And all night.’

      He touched his forehead. ‘I feel better today. I hope I did not cause you any distress because of it.’

      Her voice rose. ‘No distress, Captain.’

      She was like a skittish colt. What had happened?

      She stood. ‘Are you thirsty?’

      He was very thirsty, come to think of it, but he shook his head. ‘I am determined to no longer be a burden to you. I will get the water today. Tell me where to go.’ Surely he could rise to his feet today.

      ‘You will do no such thing.’ She gave him a scolding look. ‘Karel left some ale.’ She handed him the tankard. ‘Drink it if you are thirsty.’

      It was reddish brown in colour, tasted both sweet and tart, and Allan thought it was quite the most delicious ale he’d ever consumed.

      He drank half the contents. ‘Karel is the wife’s name?’

      Miss Pallant nodded, still watching him as if he were a wildcat about to pounce.

      He touched his shoulder. ‘I remember. She dressed my wound.’ The pain was finally fading.

      ‘Are you hungry?’ She reached for a basket and placed it near him. ‘There is bread and cheese.’

      He chose only one piece of bread and one square of cheese and handed the basket back to her. ‘You must eat as well.’

      She hesitated before taking the basket from his hand. What had caused this reticence towards him? A battle, a fire, and an escape had not robbed her of courage. What had? ‘Miss Pallant, when I was feverish, did I do something to hurt you or frighten you?’

      ‘Not at all.’ Her response was clipped. ‘You merely had a nightmare.’

      There was more to it, he was certain, but it seemed she didn’t want him to pursue it. ‘The farmer packed up the plunder and left us yesterday, I remember. Did he return?’

      She tore off a piece of bread and chewed it before answering, ‘He has not.’

      He wanted to ask her more, but even the minor exertion of sitting up and eating had greatly fatigued him. He could not even finish his bread. ‘If you give me the basket again, I’ll wrap this up.’